


About one thing

by glitterpile



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon, Translation, a teeny tiny bit of swearing I guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 06:35:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14827221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitterpile/pseuds/glitterpile
Summary: If someone had told Yuuri last year that in the future he will be watching as Viktor Nikiforov cooks breakfast for him, he would have laughed in their face.Translated from Russian.





	About one thing

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Об одном](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/386766) by шати. 



> Author's notes: 
> 
> I love jokes about silly viktor and memes about not doing dishes, but even more than that I love a viktor who knows how to cook  
> And gamer yuuri!

If someone had told Yuuri last year that in the future he will be watching as Viktor Nikiforov cooks breakfast for him, he would have laughed in their face. Then he would have hidden away and cried, because it’s not nice to tease someone like that about his futile obsession over his idol who doesn’t even know Yuuri exists. 

That was a year ago. 

Now Viktor was keeping an eye on his pikelets to make sure they wouldn’t burn, skilfully wielding a spatula and telling Yuuri a story about how he got on a train one night and took a trip to Pyatygorsk, because it felt romantic: to stand in the streets and declare to all and sundry: “Just yesterday I arrived in Pyatygorsk, and rented a room on the outskirts of town near the foot of Mount Mashuk”. Yakov hadn’t seen the appeal at all and forced Viktor to get off the train in Armavir, having recruited some local acquaintances to the task. He had had to catch a plane back; the closest airport turned out to be in Krasnodar, which was an entire four hours away. By bus. 

Yuuri was barely listening to the intriguing tale, too focused on watching how Viktor fluidly pours the batter into the frying pan (batter which was made by Viktor Nikiforov himself, god, someone stop this planet), how he flips the pikelets over, and then neatly stacks them on a plate. 

Viktor. Is. Cooking. Pikelets.

Really, Yuuri hadn’t thought that Viktor was _unable_ to cook, of course not. But until the age of 23, Viktor had existed as an unreachable ideal, which perhaps on the ice - after five of your own world championship wins, then maybe it would feel feasible to start a conversation, that is if Viktor hadn’t managed to swipe even more additional gold medals by then. Then Viktor had arrived in Japan, and the entire time was filled with - “Yuuri, get on the ice”, “Yuuri, time for a run”, “Yuuri, get stretching”, “Yuuri, watch that free leg”, “Yuuri, paw- I meant Makkachin! Never mind”. Essentially, all meals were provided by the Yutopia kitchen, or else Viktor paid a visit to some local bar or restaurant. 

Even in Saint Petersburg they were immediately trapped in a crazy whirlwind of training, which was why, when Viktor yanked him out of bed one morning, Yuuri didn’t understand at first what was happening. He had said, “Can’t we walk Makkachin later”, but then Viktor had squeezed his shoulder and leaned in with the words: “Yuuri, let’s go make breakfast”. 

Viktor sat him onto a chair, pulled a bowl from somewhere, took eggs and milk from the fridge, the flour, baking soda and salt from the cupboards and started mixing them all together. Yuuri watched this process and kept nervously pinching his leg. 

Viktor kept flour in his house. Flour. Is this even the real life? 

“I woke up and realised I had a craving for pikelets, the way my grandma used to make them,” said Viktor. “With raspberry preserves. Yakov, of course, will give us _pizdyulei_ [1] for this, but you can’t fight nostalgia." 

“Piz…” Yuuri furrowed his eyebrows questioningly. Viktor gave a little gasp:

“No. Don’t you dare learn that word. You should learn _oladushek_ [2] instead.” 

“Oldusek?” tried Yuuri. Viktor started laughing so cheerily, so warmly, that Yuuri felt like he was melting inside. Perhaps it was his heart that hadn’t been able to take it. 

“Almost. A good attempt.”

 

When Viktor finished cooking and put the dishes into the sink, Yuuri couldn’t help himself and reached out to steal a pikelet. The fluffy dough practically melted in his mouth, and Yuuri felt like he was about to cry. 

“What’s wrong?” Viktor asked with concern, seeing the expression on his face. “Did you burn yourself? Yuuri, you can’t do that, they’re still hot.” 

Yuuri got his emotions under control. Yuuri finished chewing his mouthful. Yuuri asked:

“Are you sure you’re not a dream?” 

Viktor laughed. And said: 

“I’m also your husband.”

“Holy crap.”

 

*

 

“Yuuri, can you wash the dishes?” Viktor looked into the living room, where Yuuri was sitting with his laptop and tapping out something on the keyboard with intense concentration. Yuuri glanced at him over the top of the screen and pulled out his headphones. “I’m going to take Makkachin for a walk. I’m leaving the dishes to you.” 

“Sure,” Yuuri went back to his screen. “I need… ok, let me finish this level and I’ll wash them.” 

“Great,” Viktor smiled at him. “I’ll be back by then.” 

Truthfully, Viktor could have done the dishes himself, but like all humans he did occasionally feel a desire to be lazy. He could ask Yuuri to do it. That was so… it instilled a feeling of security and comfort. Viktor felt so happy just from the thought that, whenever he went to the shops or took Makkachin for walk, Yuuri would be home waiting for his return. His dear, sweet, beloved Yuuri. 

“Aren’t we lucky to have him?” Viktor asked Makkachin with a whisper and gave him a kiss on his cold, wet nose. Makkachin licked his cheek in agreement. 

They were so lucky that Yuuri had come into their life and given them his love. Viktor left the building with this on his mind, took a breath of the fresh air and started walking down the street. Twice he turned, looking up at the windows of his apartment, with the tender thought arresting him: “Yuuri”. Yuuri is at home. 

They took their usual route, were barked at by all the local strays and returned to their own neighbourhood. Viktor saw their block from a distance and smiled. Soon Yuuri will welcome them home, with his hands smelling like lemon from the dishwashing liquid, and he will hug and kiss them both. 

But when he used his key to open the door, nobody was there. Viktor took off his shoes and tiptoed through the apartment. Yuuri was still on his laptop, the dishes were predictably still dirty in the kitchen. Viktor sighed. Viktor tried to be upset. It didn’t really work, because that was his Yuuri, still lovable together with all his faults. And, maybe, Viktor just didn’t understand his passion for games. The last time he’d touched a joystick was on an NES, and before that - Tetris. But to say that to Yuuri would be to reveal himself as old and unable to keep up with the times. 

Yuuri had told him that he had played some in childhood, but only really got obsessed with games after moving to Detroit and getting into online multiplayer ones to improve his English. And it stuck. 

“Let’s go, Makkachin,” Viktor lured the dog into the bathroom. “Let’s rinse your paws, then we can fix up the kitchen.” 

Makkachin wagged his tail and rushed to follow. But as soon as he realised they were going into the bathroom, he gave Viktor an accusing glance, as if to say: are you crazy? Water? It was wet outside, I already rinsed my paws in all the puddles. 

“Come on, Makkachin, please,” Viktor coaxed, “don’t be a pain.” 

Makkachin gave no response to his pleading statements, so Viktor was forced to pick him up and lift him into the bath in his arms. Makkachin responded to this manhandling by splashing water everywhere, but in the end his paws did get clean. Viktor let him go and darted into the bedroom to change out of his wet shirt. 

When he got to the kitchen, Yuuri was there washing dishes with his headphones in. Viktor froze for a second, then rushed forward and hugged Yuuri from behind, burying his nose in his dark hair. 

“You were already home?” Yuuri pulled out one earbud. “Sorry, I was at a hard boss and there wasn’t a savepoint until after the fight. I would have had to redo the whole thing if I hadn’t finished it.” 

“I didn’t understand a word of that,” Viktor dropped a kiss onto the back of his neck. “But I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Pizdyulei: a good thumping/beating [return to text]
> 
> Oladushek: a pikelet[return to text]
> 
>  
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](https://tasty-pile-of-glitter.tumblr.com/) I guess.


End file.
